


Undercover Assignment

by skuldchan



Series: 極神主夫譜：The Divine Art of the Househusband [5]
Category: HIStory3 - 圈套 | HIStory3: Trapped
Genre: Action, Action Film Logic, Action Film Violence, Battle Couple, Cat Hijinks, Jack is a complete badass, M/M, Mercenary Househusband Hijinks, Post-Canon, Zhao Zi is a smol closet badass, that escalated quickly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-02
Updated: 2019-11-02
Packaged: 2021-01-08 05:16:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21230417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skuldchan/pseuds/skuldchan
Summary: When a back-alley deal goes sour, Jack has to go back undercover in order to accomplish an important mission, and runs into way more trouble than he bargained for.





	Undercover Assignment

Jack rested his back against the brick wall of the alleyway sandwiched between a cigar shop and a fishmonger’s. He checked his watch, concerned that the particular stench of tobacco smoke mixed with slowly decomposing seafood was going to seep into his clothing if the broker he was waiting for was any later for their meeting. That would make for an interesting conversation with Zhao Zi, he thought sourly. ‘Hey honey, why do you smell like you went fishing in a mahjong parlor?’ was not a question he wanted to have to invent a lie for. He supposed it was partly his fault for showing up five minutes early, but then he was not expecting the other party to keep him waiting. 

He had already drawn out his butterfly knife to fidget with to pass the time, when a silhouette obscured the narrow sliver of light at one end of the alley. Jack still had the knife out, swinging it around as the figure approached, only folding and shoving it back into the pocket of his leather jacket when he was sure his approaching counterpart had already seen the glimmer of its blade. 

A mousy young man with thick glasses, looking as if he hadn’t graduated from university more than a year or two ago, scuttled toward Jack. He periodically checked over his shoulder to see if he was being followed. He needn’t have bothered, because nobody with a functioning sense of smell would have wanted to tail someone down this alleyway. Jack himself barely wanted to be there, and he was the one who had initiated this deal.

The young man pushed his glasses back up his nose. “Are you Jack?” he asked quietly, when he was close enough to converse.

An unusually humid autumn heatwave was sweeping through Taipei, which could have explained the sweat dripping down the side of the young man’s face and the growing wet stains under his armpits. It was either the heat that made the moisture seep into his t-shirt—which bore the cartoonish visage of four girls in school uniforms holding a variety of musical instruments—or the man’s obvious nervousness. Jack was willing to bet on the latter.

“You must be Narutofan97,” he said.

The man nodded.

“You got what I came for?”

Narutofan97 shrugged off the navy blue backpack from his shoulders and pulled out a bulky, rectangular package, wrapped in brown paper and tied with string.

“Let’s see it,” Jack said. 

Narutofan97 paused. “You want to see it?”

“Gotta see the goods before I pay for them,” replied Jack in reasonable tone. “My boss would be most unhappy if I came home with a counterfeit.” 

“How do I know you’re not just gonna take it and run?”

Jack’s eyebrows rose. “If I wanted to rob you, I would have done that already.”

Narutofan97 regarded him longer than Jack felt was strictly necessary to weigh him up. Perhaps deciding that he had little choice in the matter, the young man finally nodded and then stripped the wrapping from the package, revealing a colorful cardboard box. He still held tightly to it, but allowed Jack close enough to inspect its contents through the clear plastic window at its front. 

“One-eighth scale Shinguji Sakura from Sakura Wars PVC figure, manufactured by Kotobukiya in 2000. Mint, in-box condition, as promised.”

Jack scrutinized the figure carefully through the layers of packaging, even turning on the flashlight feature of his phone to get a better look at the paint and sculpting. Satisfied with his inspection, he straightened. “What’s your price?”

“Twenty-five thousand.”

“I’d be surprised if it’s even worth six hundred.” Jack cocked his head to the side and cracked a smile. “You trying to pull one over me?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Narutofan97 replied blankly. 

Jack stuck his hand back into his jacket pocket. 

“It’s genuine, I promise!” Narutofan97 insisted quickly, his voice trembling.

“You think that’s the real thing, with the paint smudges and her crooked face?” Jack pulled out his knife again. “My boss and I aren’t fond of people who waste my time with fakes,” he said in a steely, low tone. “I’ve got a busy schedule, you know.”

Narutofan97 blanched at the sight of the knife handle. Jack hadn’t even flipped the blade out yet. “What are you going to do me?” 

Jack’s grin widened. “That will depend on whether you can tell me where to find the real thing.”

“I don’t know!” 

Jack snapped his wrist and the blade unfurled, catching the rays of the mid-morning sun. “Surely someone as enterprising as yourself would have some clue I can follow.”

The young man licked his lips, his gaze glued to the knife that Jack was now flicking back and forth. Jack took a step closer, and Narutofan97 flinched, considering escape. 

“I wouldn’t bother trying if I were you.”

Narutofan97 froze, and the counterfeit Shinguji Sakura figure fell into a puddle on the asphalt with a muted splash. Jack nudged it aside with the toe of his boot.

“T-T-There’s a figure convention in two weeks’ time,” the young man gulped, putting his hands up and backing away from Jack slowly. “At the exhibition hall in the Nangang District.” 

“Go on,” Jack said, continuing to advance until he had backed up his would-be figure dealer against the side of the fishmonger’s.

“A lady named Wang Cheng goes there every year. She’s a well-known collector, but she also sells. She’s got access to the rare stuff.”

“And where does she get the rare stuff?”

Narutofan97 whimpered, still eyeing Jack’s butterfly knife. “How the hell am I supposed to know?”

He had a point.

“If there’s another original, genuine Shinguji Sakura like that at all on this island, Wang Cheng has her.”

Jack waited for Narutofan97 to say more, but tears started welling up in the young man’s eyes.

“That’s all I know, I promise. And I’m sorry for trying to rip you off. I just...really need the cash right now.”

Jack snorted. As if he’d never heard that excuse before. 

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

Narutofan97 was starting to blubber, and Jack was hit with a pang of guilt for maybe stepping over the line in terrorizing the kid. Zhao Zi would not approve if he knew what was going down in this alley, Jack thought, and he tried very hard to live up to his boyfriend’s expectations. 

With a flourish of his wrist, Jack put his knife away, and took a big step away from Narutofan97. “You’re free to go.”

“Wh-what?”

Jack nodded in the direction where the young man had come from. “Get out.” 

Narutofan97 needed no further urging. He glanced at Jack, glanced at his escape route, and took it. He scrambled, snatching his backpack and the knock-off figure off the ground, and pelted for the street. 

Jack watched him go, and then heaved a deep sigh as he disappeared around the corner. Well, that was a waste of time and effort. Jack frowned with annoyance, more at himself than anything else. How naive of him to think that tracking down a rare, collectible anime figure would have been easily resolved with a dealer from the internet.

* * *

****

**One week ago**

Jack didn’t know how Li’l Chubs’ kittens had grown so quickly. It had only been two months since the little cream-and-calico neighborhood stray had snuck into their bedroom to give birth to her four kittens, and all those weeks had passed as quickly as the blink of an eye. What had been helpless, miniature mewling balls of scraggly fur crawling around blindly in a box of towels were now lanky, cavorting teenaged cats with ungainly paws and the run of the house. There was growling, meowing, pouncing, wrestling and the lashing of many tails whenever Jack turned a corner.

The ginger tabby male, which Zhao Zi had named Yi Hu, was the worst of the lot, having developed a deep and insatiable curiosity for whatever Jack was doing in the kitchen. He jumped on the counters every time Jack was cooking, and kept doing so persistently no matter how many times Jack gently lifted him down or banged a pan to chase him away. The only solution he had discovered for correcting the kitten’s behavior was to settle Yi Hu on his shoulders, and let him sniff the ingredients to each and every meal Jack prepared. So as long as he was cooking, that was at least one of the kittens out of trouble.

The rest of the housework was a different story, unfortunately. 

Ye Yi, an all-black female, preferred sleeping in the laundry hamper, and on more than one occasion, Jack had almost tossed her into the washing machine with the rest of the dirty clothes. Zhi Ji, a white and calico female who resembled her mother, was intrigued by water, and had the frustrating habit of trying to jump into the toilet whenever the lid was up, particularly when Jack was trying to scrub it. She also liked to sit in sinks, and was unperturbed when splashed with water. This usually left Jack with only one sink when he was cooking, an inconvenience he had now grown accustomed to. Chad, a marble tabby, was indolent and preferred to nap when the rest of his littermates were playing, but had the curious tendency to hunt moving string-like objects, which made him easy to satisfy with those fishing rod cat toys. Unfortunately, his interest also extended to power cords and charging cables, which made ordinary tasks such as charging a phone an exercise in trying to convince a cat not to electrocute itself. 

It was only another month until Chad and Zhi Ji were old enough for Jack and Zhao Zi to unload them on them on the unsuspecting Meng Shao Fei and Huang Yu Qi, who had both been suckered by the cuteness of the kittens into doing them a huge favor and homing one cat each. They hadn't found anybody else in Unit Three gullible enough to take a cat, but Jack figured that he and Zhao Zi could handle having three at home. They were only slightly outnumbered. 

But for now, five was a handful. The only peace Jack got at home was when he was vacuuming, which he was having to do more often, on account the buildup of cat fur over all the horizontal and upholstered surfaces. Jack was certain he was hoovering the entire litter’s weight in fur every week. At least they left him alone when he was vacuuming, since all four kittens and their mother were terrified of its high-pitched machine whine. They scrambled to hide under tables or dash upstairs whenever Jack even brought it out of the closet, which suited him just fine because the lack of cats trying to help made his job a lot easier. 

On this particular day, Jack was hoovering the ground floor lounge. Ye Yi had been napping by the window and had panicked upon Jack’s approach with the vacuum. Too afraid to sneak past it, despite many aborted attempts, her hesitation had finally caused her to be cornered between the encroaching vacuum head and the fireplace. Terrified, she swiped at it with her tiny claws, landing several hits which did nothing to the hardy plastic. Jack did his best to vacuum around her, figuring she might calm down if he got the work done quickly, though this did nothing to abate her displeasure that the machine existed at all. She flattened her body against the wall, arching her back and puffing out her fur. She revealed two rows of small, sharp teeth as she pulled her muzzle back in a hiss. Jack thought it unfortunate that he could not hear her over the sound of the turbine. He imagined it sounded unbearably cute.

Part of him wanted to keep prodding poor Ye Yi to see what other adorable kitten antics he might be able to poke out of her, but the more sensible part of him took pity on her tiny cat brain and shut off the vacuum. He laid it down and approached her slowly, intending to pick up and deposit her upstairs safely. She hissed again at the vacuum, and paid him no heed. 

As he took another step closer, it seemed as if Ye Yi finally noticed his presence. She turned her head to look up at him, her blue irises hardly visible with the wide dilation of her pupils. She gawked at Jack, caught off guard, as if she had never seen him before in her entire life. They froze for a moment, staring at each other in surprise, Jack moreso because she had forgotten about him, even though he'd been home with her every single day of her life so far. Then, she took off like a shot in the only direction she could. Which was sideways and up on the bookshelf.

The bookshelf where Zhao Zi displayed all the figures of his favorite characters from his favorite anime, manga, and video games.

“No!” Jack cried.

Claws outstretched, kitten paws kicked off of the floor, scrabbling against the slippery, polished wood. They found purchase momentarily against one of Zhao Zi’s figures, a young woman with purple-black hair in a pink kimono and red hakama. Jack would later learn from his boyfriend that she was called Shinguji Sakura, the lead in a Japanese role playing-cum-dating simulation game called _Sakura Wars_. A single kick from Ye Yi sent her crashing to the floor, where one arm and the hilt of Sakura’s katana snapped off upon landing. 

The loud clatter of the fallen figure startled Ye Yi even more, and she yowled, parkouring off of book spines as she launched herself again, this time toward the kitchen table. She landed in a skid, her small claws unable to stop her from sliding across its surface, and she sailed clean off, almost taking the tablecloth with her, landing in the middle of the kitchen floor. Somehow still able to orient herself, she made for the stairs in a mad dash, her small body rocketing up each step until she disappeared from view, leaving Jack alone downstairs with one of Zhao Zi’s damaged figures, some upended manga volumes, and the rice cooker precariously balanced on the edge of the table.

It took Jack a long time to recover from his laughter, which still echoed off the walls as he wiped tears of mirth from the corners of his eyes.

* * *

The weekend of Go!Figure, the toy and figure convention that Narutofan97 had informed him of, Jack was saved the uncomfortable prospect of having to lie to Zhao Zi regarding his planned whereabouts for the whole day because his boyfriend was scheduled to be on duty. Unit Three, in cooperation with Interpol, was close to tracking down the leader of the Taiwanese branch of an international criminal gang dealing in stolen cryptocurrency, so it was all hands on deck until the case was cracked. 

Jack could have let on that he was trying to track down a replacement of the Shinguji Sakura figure that Ye Yi had broken, but he wanted it to be a surprise.

“We’d better catch them before next week,” Zhao Zi had grumbled as they’d departed the house together. “I don’t want to be working two consecutive weekends.” 

He hadn’t needed to say that this was Meng Shao Fei’s first time working with Interpol as Unit Three’s newly-appointed, permanent Captain, and he wanted to make a good impression on Interpol Chief Yan, or at least, make some headway in terms of overcoming his history of bad ones, hence the extra pressure for the squad to succeed. Jack only gave it about sixty-forty odds that Meng Shao Fei wouldn’t completely botch the job. The man could manage to think clearly most of the time when his cases didn’t involve any connections to Tang Yi. Jack hoped this one didn’t somehow involve his old Xing Tian Group boss, otherwise Unit Three was doomed. 

“When do you think you’ll be back home tonight?” Jack asked, as Zhao Zi dismounted the motorcycle. “Just so I know when to have dinner ready.”

Zhao Zi frowned. “Ten, at the latest.”

“That late, huh?” 

Zhao Zi nodded, glum.

Ordinarily, Jack would have been loathe to let the police have his boyfriend for an entire Saturday, but today, he was secretly relieved. He gave Zhao Zi a simple kiss on the forehead by way of farewell.

“I’ll LINE you when I leave the station,” Zhao Zi said.

Jack nodded, and they parted ways reluctantly.

Watching the doors close behind his boyfriend’s retreating form, Jack heaved a sigh of relief. He swung his motorcycle back around and headed home to prepare for his big outing.

* * *

Jack had never had the occasion to set foot into the Exhibition Center during an event. The entire interior was a riot of color and noise, of plastic and resin, with an estimated attendance of ten thousand warm bodies packed into the single concrete floor which was divided into hundreds of vendor and exhibition booths, row upon orderly row.

Initially, he had figured it might be in character for him to gawk a bit at the crowd, but upon entering the massive hall, Jack realized he had guessed wrong. There were plenty of other men and women similarly attired to him in oversized dark hoodies, loose jeans and black sneakers, bearing large backpacks over their shoulders, but they threaded their way through the crowd calmly and patiently as if they knew where they were going, as if the conflux of thousands of collectors and fans wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. So he did as the others did—put his head down, shoved his wire-rimmed glasses further up the bridge of his nose and followed the person in front of him. Many others were looking at their phones as well, which gave Jack the excuse to load up the event map and locate Wang Cheng’s rare figure booth. If she didn’t have the figure he wanted, Jack supposed, there was a decent shot that one of the hundreds of vendors here might.

Since he had let Narutofan97 scuttle off a week ago, Jack had done his research on Wang Cheng. He had expected her to have an online store somewhere, but the talk in the toy and figure forums was that as a discerning collector and seller, you had to prove yourself worthy if you wanted one of her figures. She didn’t sell to just anybody. You had to deserve it, and only she could be the judge of that, though how she judged seemed to be a matter of disagreement amongst the forum denizens. Some said she struck up a conversation to gauge your background, and if she liked your personality or your devotion to your favorite character or show, she would allow a purchase. Others said she would quiz you on obscure knowledge of the character whose figure you expressed an interest in, and if you failed, she would flat-out refuse. Yet another said that it was as arbitrary as a single look, and if she found you hot, that was that. Jack was hoping to bank on that last one.

It was a strange way of doing business, likely more a hobby than for any profit. But Jack was willing to do anything to get this figure back. Shinguji Sakura had been Zhao Zi’s favorite character as he grew up playing the _Sakura Wars_ games, dating all the way back to the Sega Saturn, which even Jack himself barely remembered coming out. He would be damned if he couldn’t track her down for his boyfriend. 

Zhao Zi didn’t have a Sega Saturn anymore, so in lieu of playing the games himself Jack had instead watched other people’s playthroughs on the internet. He had taken comprehensive notes, committing to memory everything he could about the plot, characters, and dating strategies. It was no different than having to learn the intricate connections, relationships, and distribution channels of the crime syndicates he used to infiltrate, except the stakes didn’t involve his certain execution if he fucked up. 

The crowd moved slowly through the packed hall, winding around larger industry booths with their blinking lights and flashing screens. People peeled off at the sides, toward speakers and exhibits, while others joined the flow of moving bodies, some wandering and window shopping, while others trudged forward in the throng with purpose. Jack was confident as he split from the main thoroughfare, heading toward one of the narrower aisles.

He rehearsed his cover story as he made his way to the location of Wang Cheng’s table. He had recently been promoted to deputy head of a small group accountants at his firm. As a big fan of the Sakura Wars franchise since he’d been a kid, he’d always coveted the Kotobukiya figure, but had only recently saved up enough money to purchase it. 

It was ludicrous to have to invent something like this, in any ordinary circumstance. ‘I broke it, I need a new one’ should have sufficed, but the internet had been clear that one of Wang Cheng’s pet peeves was a lack of respect for your figures. Jack was certain that ‘my cat jumped on the bookshelf and broke it, and I need a new one to surprise my boyfriend’ would only result in a refusal, so he had to go in with a good story.

As Jack approached, he noticed that Wang Cheng’s table was unmarked. Unlike the rest of the vendors, who had banners, flags, and the odd flashing string of LEDs to announce their presence and draw customers to their wares, Wang’s Cheng’s booth was rather plain. She had no sign announcing the name of her business. Instead, she had three tables covered in black cloth, upon which an array of vinyl and resin figures of varying sizes were on display. There were half-naked women posing with handguns, a copious amount of grinning schoolgirls in short skirts and anatomically inaccurate bosoms, an assemblage of angular-looking robot things, and an assortment of spiky-haired men with melee weapons that were either too thick or too long to actually be of use. Jack hardly recognized anything except the characters that Zhao Zi kept at home, and the collection of miniature Doraemon statuettes. Everybody knew Doraemon. Nothing had a price displayed, which was not surprising given her reputation.

Behind the enclosure of tables was a plain, petite woman, looking no older than her early forties. Jack assumed she must be the fabled collector herself. Unlike the other vendors who stood for their customers, eager to serve, Wang Cheng sat, her head tilted downward, gazing at the cell phone she held in her hand. She wore her black hair in a neat but severe bob, a style that had been fashionable a few years ago but was now considered passé. She wore a striped button-down blouse, a step up from the t-shirts and hoodies that filled the hall. 

She reminded Jack of some of the housewives on his block—like Mrs. Yan who kept trying to get him to pick up badminton so he could play in her club, and Mrs. Guo, with whom he had once taken a eight-week evening pastry course. But where Mrs. Yan and Mrs. Guo were warm and cheerful, Wang Cheng exuded an aloof air. She occasionally glanced up from her screen to monitor the movement of the convention’s attendees with a discerning eye and a chilly expression. Behind her was a large shelf, similar to the kind the other vendors used, something that could be assembled and disassembled easily. Where the other sellers put their best merchandise on proud display, Wang Cheng had purposefully covered hers beneath a heavy, black cloth. 

She really wasn’t in it for the money, was she. 

“Hi,” Jack said, stopping beside her table, and surveying her figures. He made a show of lingering on some of them, and smiling in recognition, even though he had little clue what he was supposed to be looking at. He was the only one there, no surprise given Wang Cheng’s wintry reception. “I’ve heard that you’re the person to go to for something I’m looking for,” Jack continued, affecting the eager demeanor of a nerd who had spent a long time looking for something incredibly specific, and had finally found it.

“That depends on what you’re looking for and why.” Wang Cheng’s gaze flickered up from her phone, though she made no attempt to rise, as if she were still gauging whether he was worth the time her eyes spent off her screen.

“I’m looking for the 2000 Kotobukiya Shinguji Sakura figure,” Jack said, declining to elaborate, knowing that he might offend her if her vast knowledge of popular Japanese video game franchises was questioned.

An eyebrow rose, so Jack related the backstory he had concocted for his undercover character. “It would mean a lot to me, if you happened to have her,” he finished, trying to ooze honest excitement.

Wang Cheng regarded him silently before she changed the subject. “Did you hear that they’re going to release a new game later this year?”

“I know, I’ve already pre-ordered it on the PlayStation Store.” 

“They might do a figure re-release if the game proves successful.”

“But it won’t be the same,” Jack countered. “Besides, the new game has a whole new cast of characters, and I’m going to miss the old ones I’ve grown up with.”

“Mm hm,” Wang Cheng murmured, her gaze growing thoughtful, as if she understood Jack’s dilemma.

“At least they’re keeping the composer, so the music won’t be different,” Jack added, hoping to coax more sympathy from the figure dealer.

Wang Cheng’s eyes lit with recognition at the mention of the game’s soundtrack, her gaze taking on a wistful light. It was almost the same light that had shone in Zhao Zi’s gaze when he’d told Jack about his fond gaming memories.

“Who told you that I might have the figure?” she asked.

Jack hoped she wasn’t asking for some kind of password or secret phrase, because the forums hadn’t said anything on that topic.

“Some guy who tried to sell me a counterfeit,” Jack replied, with the appropriate amount of annoyance.

The corners of Wang Cheng’s mouth pricked upward. “The nerve of some people.”

Jack scoffed. “As if they think we can’t tell.”

Wang Cheng’s smile widened. Jack wondered if she was always like this—cautious, guarded—or whether there was something else at play. Was the only Shinguji Sakura she had from her own private collection?

Jack suppressed an urge to frown when her phone chimed with the arrival of a text message. He’d had her full attention for a moment there, and was annoyed at the interruption. She glanced back down briefly, before her gaze returned to Jack. Finally, she rose from her chair and leaned over the table to speak softly to him. 

“Why don’t you and I talk some more after the convention’s done for the day?” 

“Sure. Where?”

“There’s a bar across—”

Wang Cheng stopped in the middle of her sentence, something on her right catching her attention. She stiffened. Jack followed her gaze and felt his stomach plummet. 

Two men were approaching Wang Cheng’s table. The tall one wore a red and black baseball jacket emblazoned with the Pokemon logo on his breast. He was accompanied by his short friend, dressed in a blue hoodie and a red cap, again sporting the Pokemon logo. Together, they sauntered nonchalantly in Jack and Wang Cheng’s direction. 

_Oh, shit._

What the hell were Lu Jun Wei and Zhao Zi doing here?

Jack controlled his expression as best he could. He turned away from them, making as if he were studying one of Wang Cheng’s resin figures—a dark-haired girl in a flowing white dress playing a lute—with great interest. His mind raced. He needed the figure and he needed not to get caught by Zhao Zi, who was supposed to be at the precinct and not perusing Wang Cheng’s display instead.

_Wait._

“Jack, what the heck are you doing here?” It was Zhao Zi who had spoken.

Jack cursed mentally that he’d been discovered so quickly. He had just put two and two together. If both Zhao Zi and Jun Wei had stopped here, at this table, and they were supposed to be working the cryptocurrency case...

Jack took a deep breath without looking like he had done so. He turned to his boyfriend, keeping very calm, while out of the corner of his eye, he watched carefully for Wang Cheng’s reaction. “You must be mistaken,” he said firmly. He hoped that Zhao Zi would cotton on, even though a look of pure confusion had just crossed his darling Shorty’s features. 

“You’re right,” Zhao Zi began hesitantly, staring at Jack as if he wanted to receive some further cue, “I must have—”

“No, Jack, seriously, what are you doing here?” asked Jun Wei. “And why the hell are you dressed like that?”

Jack tried not to look as if he was going to strangle Jun Wei in the next second. Wang Cheng stood, tense, her gaze flicking between the three of them. 

“What’s going on here, officers?” Wang Cheng smiled icily. Besides the fact that she had just identified Jun Wei and Zhao Zi as police without any discernible evidence, Jack also noticed that one of her hands had dived beneath her booth table. 

“Get down!” Jack leapt to the side, tackling both Zhao Zi and Jun Wei’s legs. All three of them fell heavily to the ground in a heap. 

In the stall across from Wang Cheng’s, a few boxes stacked atop their display case were suddenly sent flying, spraying bits of cardboard and fragments of PVC upon the passing convention attendees, who shouted in surprise and covered their heads instinctively. 

Jack recognized the muted pop of a silencer. 

Momentary distraction achieved, the figure dealer hightailed it out of her booth. 

Sprawled across Jun Wei's lanky form, Jack noticed a handgun-sized bulge protruding from beneath the Pokemon jacket. He should know better, but Jack never could resist when a police officer’s service pistol presented itself, ripe for the taking. 

"Stop!" shouted Zhao Zi, the first to struggle to his feet. Wang Cheng had already disappeared into the crowd. Zhao Zi started after her, but then paused, torn between giving chase and staying to make sure that Jun Wei and the civilians were all right. He looked at Jack.

Jack nodded, just once.

Reassured, Zhao Zi turned and sprang into action, diving into the sea of convention attendees. 

“Call for backup, prepare for evacuation, and make sure no one was hit by those shots,” Jack said as he rose, taking charge since Zhao Zi had already gone. 

Jun Wei pushed himself up to standing and started to acknowledge, but then paused, belatedly realizing that Jack was not in his line of command. “But—”

“I’ll take care of Shorty.” Jack grinned as he flashed the handle of Jun Wei’s own sidearm at him. “Thanks for the Glock, by the way.” He tucked it into the pocket of his jeans.

“W-wait!...Wait!” Jun Wei’s protests faded as Jack threaded his way through the crowd.

“Move!” Jack shouted, realizing dimly in the back of his mind that he probably looked like an angry, desperate nerd to everyone. He tossed the glasses off his face and shrugged out of his hoodie. He had borrowed one of his boyfriend’s t-shirts with some comically drawn pirates on it to complete his look. It was a little tight on him, but Jack didn’t have the time to give any shits about that, not when Zhao Zi and their quarry were already so far ahead of him.

Jack forced his way through the congested thoroughfare. A few clusters of people ahead of him, Jack could see Zhao Zi trying to plow a path too, but they were losing ground. They couldn’t conceivably chase Wang Cheng through all of these people to the doors at the ends of the building. Surely, swimming upstream couldn’t be Wang Cheng’s escape plan. 

Jack glanced to the side, remembering from his survey of the exhibition center’s layout that there were turn-offs spaced every couple hundred meters along the main hall—bathrooms, facilities access, loading docks. A woman smart enough to run a criminal ring would aim for one of those, rather than battle her way through ten thousand people.

The next one was just ahead of where Zhao Zi was.

“Shorty!” Jack shouted as he continued to force his way forward. “To the sides!” He gestured with an arm, all he could do without slowing himself down and giving even more ground.

He made for the nearest of the exits, winding his way around the tables, cutting through booths and leaping over tables where it might save him a fraction of a second. He left shouts of “Hey!” and “What the hell?” in his wake, but paid them no heed. By now, the convention attendees were beginning to twig that something larger was amiss. They regarded Jack nervously as he dashed past them, bowling over the occasional oblivious nerd, too slow to get out of his way.

Jack had to get out of the main hall, before the crowd started to—

There was a single, resounding gunshot that rose above the din and echoed between the rafters of the exhibition hall. A high-pitched scream rose from the crowd. Someone had heard the shot. 

“Zhao Zi!” Jack was within view of double doors marked with a red “Staff Only” sign above the lintel. One of the doors was thrown open, the room beyond it too dark for Jack to make out it what was in it. 

Jack pounded straight for it, drawing his—Ah-Jun’s—pistol. He should do the smart, dignified thing, and stop to check for an enemy ambush before entering cautiously through the open door. Or he could do the stupid, reckless thing instead, and just crash through the open door because Zhao Zi might be on the other side, because he had heard Zhao Zi’s gun go off, and his boyfriend might have gotten hurt.

The air in the exhibition hall grew restless as people stopped in their tracks. Many looked concerned and frightened, and Jack recognized that it would not take much to tip them into hysteria. He needed to get out of the hall now. Jack hoped Jun Wei had told the backup units that they would need to evacuate the entire convention.

Jack sped up as he approached the open door, noting that the handle and locks had been blown off by bullets. Zhao Zi was nowhere to be seen in the vicinity. If he was near, he must have gone through. Jack heard no further gunshots. Firmly dismissing any possibility that his boyfriend had been hit and was lying bleeding or dead somewhere on the floor on the other side, Jack found a compromise between the smart thing and the stupid thing. He dove for the ground as he crossed the threshold, tucking his head down in a roll. His shoulder hit the ground, and momentum carried him back onto his feet as he drew his pistol. 

Nothing but silence greeted him. 

Jack had somersaulted into a long corridor stretching in parallel to the length of the exhibition hall, walled with concrete and solid supports of steel. Its width was bisected by a line of evenly spaced pillars which ascended into the darkness above the flickering fluorescent lights. Jack heard the echoing cadence of Zhao Zi’s footfalls against the hard floor, even through the panic that was beginning to engulf the convention center outside. His view down the corridor was obscured by the columns and the other sundry objects—wooden tables, stacks of chairs, rolled-up carpets—that protruded into it from dark corners, but Jack followed the sounds of Zhao Zi’s pursuit anyway.

It was reckless to race down the corridor as fast as he was, without knowing, without checking whether Wang Cheng had laid an ambush behind the pile of partitions ahead or the jumble of boxes that Jack just blew past. The lighting was dim, but Jack was still able to see the figure of Zhao Zi ahead of him. As long as his boyfriend was ahead, it was safe for Jack to run like the only thing he cared about was catching up, though the twisted logic of Zhao Zi serving as the canary in the proverbial coal—or bullet—mine turned his stomach. 

This was what Zhao Zi had signed up for as law enforcement, Jack told himself, and not anything less dangerous than what he was used to braving on the regular. This logic did nothing to reassure him, however, because no matter how he ran the numbers, the math was different now than what it used to be. There was now one variable tilting the equation, one known quantity that Jack could not bear to drop from the formula.

Sound from the exhibition center carried as a hubbub. Jack heard snatches of a calm voice on the intercom, its evacuation message partly distorted by the clamor and echo of the ten thousand-strong crowd. They must not let Wang Cheng escape in the throng, not just because she might slip away in the middle of the evacuees, but also because she was armed. Jack hadn’t gotten a good look at her gun, but at most she had probably started off with eighteen rounds. Assuming she had used around five already, that left her with up to thirteen. Thirteen possible lives, if they couldn’t apprehend her. 

Jack was beginning to catch up to Zhao Zi—either he was getting faster or his boyfriend was flagging—and then he realized that, no, Zhao Zi had actually stopped. Pressing his back against a concrete column, Zhao Zi waited, beckoning to him. 

Slowing to a stealthy jog, Jack caught up to his boyfriend, his heart hammering harder in his chest than he ever remembered. All those times he had faced down the barrel of a gun held by irate syndicate members seemed but a pale memory to the refreshing hit of adrenaline now surging in his arteries. Jack met Zhao Zi’s eyes, and they gave each other a silent, apprehensive once-over, hardly daring to breathe for fear of finding a bloom of blood on the other. Jack let out a small exhalation when he found nothing.

His relief was interrupted by a puff of concrete dust exploding in the air. Fragments of cement showered the floor, bouncing harmlessly like hailstones. Reflexively, he pinned Zhao Zi up against the column, flattening their bodies to its surface. It was not wide enough to accommodate them side by side, so this awkward position was Jack’s only choice for cover.

Zhao Zi’s breathing was shallow and ragged in his ear. Jack could hardly tell whether the thumping in his chest was his own heart, or whether they were so close that he was somehow also feeling Zhao Zi’s frantic beat. A part of him realized that it boded ill that Wang Cheng had stopped running and started shooting. Either they had cornered her, which was not likely, or she was waiting for something, like the arrival of backup. The other part of Jack was somewhere, sometime else entirely, all the way back in his boyfriend’s bedroom when he had stolen Zhao Zi’s first kiss.

Jack wondered if he ought to try that again. His gaze flickered downward.

Zhao Zi was staring at him, his pupils wide from excitement and the dimness of the fluorescent lights, softly illuminating the mist of fine cement particulates enveloping them. Zhao Zi’s head tilted at an angle that Jack found achingly familiar, eyes fluttering closed in a way that elicited in Jack an irresistible, primeval instinct to close the remaining inches between them. 

Their lips met. The warm sensation of his boyfriend’s tongue pierced Jack’s awareness as Zhao Zi opened for him. Arms wrapped around his waist, crushing him close. Jack braced an arm about Zhao Zi’s hip, answering with equal heat.

More cement chunks flew, raining around them. The stuttered staccato cacophony of multiple submachine gunfire interrupted Jack’s senses. Shit, he hadn’t wanted to be right about Wang Cheng’s backup. He wondered how they had arrived faster than the police—unless they had already been here. How big was this crime ring, and how many more should he expect? 

He shoved that thought aside in favor of his more immediate concern—the hail of bullets. If they could aim well enough to hit their pillar with an uzi, Jack supposed he could also pick them off with his pistol. 

Concrete dust still swirled in the air, hazy like smoke as the last echoes of gunshots dissipated. Jack parted from Zhao Zi. He checked his clip, and cursed Jun Wei for not filling it to full capacity. He only had ten rounds. Bracing his left hand around Zhao Zi’s waist, Jack leaned out to the side and fired off two shots from Ah-Jun’s Glock. As he ducked back into cover, he was rewarded with a woman’s startled cry of pain—her just deserts for interrupting his kiss. Her voice was a higher than Wang Cheng’s, so sadly he had not hit the collector-cum-criminal mastermind herself.

He and Zhao Zi waited out a further round of gunfire, another spraying of concrete. The odd bullet veered into the jumble of stanchions lining the walls of the corridor. Zhao Zi smiled at him despite the bullets, an exhilarated grin edged with recklessness. He lifted his chin again, tempting Jack into another brush of their lips before the lull.

Jack leaned out the other side, and popped off three more shots. All answering fire flew wide. Another voice groaned and cursed, a man this time.

Jack turned back to his boyfriend. “How many more are there supposed to be?”

Zhao Zi shook his head. “We had planned on just the one.”

So they had flushed out more than just Wang Cheng by pure coincidence, then. Heavens only knew how many more might appear. 

Jack was in the midst of considering their options when the decision was made for him. His only warning was the hitch of Zhao Zi’s breath and a flood of light as the exhibition hall doors nearest them flew open. Chaos spiked as sound engulfed them on all sides in the form of shouts and varied footfalls. Multiple bodies materialized out of both darkness and light, charging toward them from too many directions. 

Zhao Zi’s body tensed against his. Jack felt his boyfriend’s right arm slide up his waist, up his ribs, stretching, straightening. Jack brought his own gun up to take aim at the silhouettes rushing at him through the doors. 

The discharge of Zhao Zi’s sidearm reverberated just as Jack squeezed off two shots himself. The first figure dropped in front of him. Two more shots, and the second fell as well. Behind him, more bodies crumpled with shouts of surprise, their ambush foiled by Zhao Zi’s steady aim. 

One of the attackers that Jack had dropped continued to struggle, lifting a pistol through gritted teeth even though Jack had just shot her through both shoulders. His last bullet sent her gun flying out of her grip. 

It was all up to Zhao Zi now, but he seemed unperturbed by the prospect even though four more men were coming toward them.

“Here.” Zhao Zi brushed his jacket back briskly, revealing his belt harness. His gun holster was empty, but there was something else there. Jack smirked as he reached for it, his fingers closing around a rod of cold, darkened steel. 

Zhao Zi fired off another few rounds, and Jack sprung forward. It had been too long since he’d last had fun like this. With a sharp snap of his wrist, he extended the baton to its full length. Jack grabbed arm of the nearest attacker, swinging the man’s pistol wide. It discharged harmlessly into a stack of folded tables. The baton crashed down upon the man’s wrist, with a satisfying crunch of fractured bone and snapped tendon.

The gun clattered from the man’s grasp, and he dropped to his knees, doubling over with a scream. The sudden aggression of Jack’s advance made the second one to hesitate for a fraction of a second, before the weighted metal tip of Jack’s truncheon found his elbow. As the man’s momentum continued to carry him forward, Jack spun, hooking the man’s ankle and levering him over his shoulder in a tumble of arms and legs. 

The last two, a young man in glasses and a girl with a braid, were armed with short, serrated blades, which they had drawn early, an amateur mistake. Jack recognized the man as Narutofan97, and realized that the whole counterfeit figure deal had been a ploy from the beginning to direct business to Wang Cheng, just one link in her convoluted chain of cryptocurrency laundering. It was so ridiculous that Jack laughed, an abrupt explosion of amusement and mirth that caught Narutofan97 and Braid off guard. 

They shared a concerned glance before deciding to charge Jack in tandem. From the way they gripped their knives, Jack could tell they had some martial arts training. They moved with short efficient strikes instead of telegraphing their movement in slow arcs. So Narutofan97’s nervousness had been fake as well. He seemed more confident now, the corners of his mouth curled in a cruel smile as if he would enjoy the sensation of sinking his blade into Jack. Jack smiled back, excitement singing in his blood.

Steel glinted in the dim light as his two opponents circled him before attacking. Jack parried slashes aimed at his neck and whirled to interrupt a stab aimed for his ribs from Braid. Her strike had left her lower half open. Jack’s foot connected with her shin. She flinched with pain and jumped back.

Jack surged forward, following her, not allowing her out of his range. She brought her knife up defensively as he feinted for her right side. He twirled his baton around his wrist and whipped it into the side of her throat. Braid staggered, croaking, which gave Jack enough time to land another blow that crushed her windpipe. She went down heavily, gurgling. 

Jack whirled on his other assailant, not missing a beat. Narutofan97 growled, and then advanced, with a series of rapid, vicious slashes—at the eyes, stomach, arm. Jack dodged only by virtue of his superior reflexes. Frustrated that his last three attacks had caught air, Narutofan97 leapt at Jack, lips curled back in a snarl. 

Jack threw his baton.

It flew through the air, end over end, catching Narutofan97 square in the nose and sending his glasses crashing to the floor. He stumbled, blood gushing from his face. Jack pivoted close, catching Narutofan97’s arm and fracturing it against his shoulder with an audible crack of bone. Narutofan97 bellowed, dropping his blade. Jack kicked his legs out from under him. The young man whimpered, curling up where he fell. 

Jack looked around, his chest heaving as he gulped down great breaths he hadn’t known he’d needed. Zhao Zi had dispatched two more foes, who were writhing on the ground with bullet wounds. He and Jack grinned at each other like maniacs.

Wooden shrapnel exploded behind Jack. He ducked quickly, reminded of Wang Cheng’s presence. 

“Shit.” Her voice was barely audible over the clicking of her empty clip.

“Let’s go!” Jack hissed to his boyfriend, who needed no second urging. 

Wang Cheng's gun clattered to the floor as she set off at a run, her last chance at escape since her subordinates had all been taken out.

“Freeze! Police!” A commanding female voice rose above the din, above the patter of Wang Cheng’s footfalls. It took Jack a couple more seconds to realize that the voice belonged to Huang Yu Qi, of all people.

“Freeze! Or we’ll shoot!”

Jack watched as Wang Cheng continued to careen toward the police, who had assembled in a line spread the width of the corridor. She reached one arm behind her. Jack realized then that she had taken an uzi from her fallen comrade, tucked behind her back into the waistband of her jeans. Was she intending to take some of Unit Three out with her?

She had only just drawn it when a single clean shot reverberated. A thin tendril of smoke rose from the barrel of Yu Qi’s pistol. Wang Cheng ran a few more steps forward before her legs gave out, and she plowed face first into the floor and lay still. 

Jack and Zhao Zi caught up to the rest of Unit Three’s reinforcements. Yu Qi dispatched the paramedics to take care of Wang Cheng and the associates that Jack and his boyfriend had downed. It took until the end of her long litany of orders—more hands assisting with the evacuation, do a sweep of the exhibit hall—before she turned to Jack and it occurred to her that something that something was off. 

“What are you doing here? And isn’t that one of Zhao Zi’s old t-shirts?”

“Oh yeah.” Zhao Zi turned to his boyfriend. He waited, expecting an explanation.

Jack shrugged, spreading his arms wide. “I really needed to buy a certain figure.”

* * *

Meng Shao Fei’s office was not where Jack had ever envisioned himself, yet here he was. It was better than the interrogation suite—which was where he should have ended up if Unit Three were following the rules—but not by much. 

Shao Fei sat behind his desk, regarding Jack with a mix of curiosity and anger. He kept opening his mouth, pausing, and then shutting it again, as if there were too many questions he wanted to ask and he couldn’t figure out where to start. Jack smiled in return, amused by having rendered the normally impudent and talkative Captain Meng speechless.

“I don’t even…” Shao Fei began, but then trailed off.

Jack’s smile did not change.

Finally, Shao Fei settled on a thread for questioning. “Do you even know what you’ve done?”

“I’ve helped your officers apprehend a criminal and many of her associates, who you hadn’t even known about,” Jack replied smugly. “You’re welcome, Captain.”

“Every single one of them has been hospitalized, you know, either with gunshots or broken bones.”

“Their misfortune to have run into us,” replied Jack smoothly. He had only ever seen Zhao Zi in action a few times. He did not bother disguising his pride that his boyfriend was more than capable of holding his own in a firefight. 

“You stole weapons off of two on-duty law enforcement officers in an active shooter situation.”

“‘Stole’ is a very strong word, Captain. They let me have them. And you’re making it sound like I interfered with your operation.”

“Technically, you did,” said Shao Fei flatly. “You know, this was my first time, formally as the Captain of Unit Three, working together with Interpol in a joint operation. A mass evacuation of an event attended by ten thousand people and a gunfight was not how either I or the Interpol Chief wanted this to go down. We were supposed to arrest Wang Cheng quietly. I’ll be damn surprised if the whole fiasco doesn’t make the headlines tomorrow!”

A public event attended by a ten thousand-strong crowd would not have been Jack’s first choice for an arrest, he thought, though he knew better than to point that out. He had been within his rights as a citizen to attend the convention. It was Jun Wei who had aroused Wang Cheng’s suspicion first. “Your suspect spooked, and I pursued her. Successfully,” said Jack instead, which was his point.

“Jack, you’re a civilian,” Shao Fei sighed. “Please tell me you understand that.”

Jack smirked. “Technically.” 

Meng Shao Fei had no retort to that point, which Jack assumed meant he agreed. “Still, you should leave the catching of bad guys up to the police.”

“Oh, don’t worry, I intend to.” So long as they left both him and Zhao Zi alone.

Shao Fei rubbed at his forehead as if a headache were coming on. “In the meantime, I have to figure out what to do with you. Interpol is not going to be happy to hear that we let an ex-mobster intervene in our operation.”

Jack considered this. “I wouldn’t be so sure.”

Shao Fei narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean?”

“I’m saying that honesty is the best policy.” Jack shrugged, feigning innocence. “You can’t possibly hide my involvement in your case, and besides, Interpol already knows who I am, since they’ve hauled me in for questioning on a few occasions. Assume they know everything, including the fact that I’m a very protective and action-oriented househusband.” Houseboyfriend, actually, but that wasn’t a word. Briefly, Jack wondered if it might be time to upgrade that to ‘husband’ formally.

“Yan Zheng Qiang is going to have my head,” Shao Fei muttered, not happy with Jack’s solution to his conundrum, but having to be satisfied with it nonetheless. 

Jack cocked his head to the side curiously, because he was not supposed to know who the Interpol Chief was. And yes, Chief Yan was going to have to chew Meng Shao Fei’s head off—a common pastime, or so he’d heard—otherwise it would look like Jack might have some suspicious connection with Interpol. It was no secret that Jack had bounced around a series of collapsing syndicates before Tang Yi had taken notice of him and took him into the fold of the Xing Tian Group. It wouldn’t take someone with Shao Fei’s intelligence that long to put two and two together if he started suspecting the veracity of Jack’s narrative of being a talented mafia enforcer with the misfortune of being at the wrong place at the wrong time again and again. Outside of a limited number of handlers and the Chief himself, the only other person who knew that Jack had in fact been a spy in Interpol’s employ was Zhao Zi. Jack would rather keep it that way, for now. 

He was certain that he would be fielding personal visits from Nick, if not Chief Yan himself, wondering if he were ready to return to his old job. The answer to that was a resounding no, though Jack wondered how he could convey that emphatically enough. That was a concern for another time, however. Jack turned his attention back to Unit Three’s new Captain.

“So,” said Jack, breaking the silence that had fallen. “Can I go now?”

Shao Fei frowned. “Absolutely not.”

“Pardon?”

“You may absolutely not go. Do you have any idea how much paperwork you’ve brought upon my team? If you’re going to go around taking our guns and shooting our bad guys, the least you can do is to stay for the paperwork. We have to account for every bullet we’ve fired, you know, and you fired off quite a few! That paperwork isn’t going to do itself.”

Jack blinked, incredulous. “I do not believe I am obligated—”

“If you want Zhao Zi to make it home this side of the weekend, I suggest you shut up and help.”

Jack slowly closed his mouth. He didn’t know the first thing about police paperwork, but he supposed that Zhao Zi would be able to teach him. Jack had not expected this sudden and unorthodox turnabout to be executed so smoothly. He was beginning to harbor a newfound respect for Meng Shao Fei. 

“All right,” Jack’s small smile returned. “Just this once, then.” 

“It better be,” Shao Fei grumbled. “Because we’re not in the business of giving out honorary badges.”

“Understood, sir,” Jack gave Captain Meng a cheeky imitation of a police salute, and then let himself out. 

As he shut Shao Fei’s office door, Zhao Zi looked up from his computer, and grinned at him.

Better get started on those reports, then, thought Jack wryly as he took up a seat next to his boyfriend.

* * *

It was the middle of the night when Jack and Zhao Zi swiveled in their chairs, looking up from their paperwork, as the rest of Unit Three carted the impounded evidence—Wang Cheng’s entire collection of rare figures—to the processing department. Their vision was bleary from having spent so many hours staring at computer screens and filling out forms, but Jack caught a glimpse of a familiar box corner, as the rookies wheeled stack upon stack past him. Shinguji Sakura! Jack’s jaw dropped. So Wang Cheng had had her! 

“You don’t think they’d notice if one box of evidence went missing?” Jack asked his boyfriend.

“I’m sure they would,” Zhao Zi replied firmly.

Jack sighed theatrically.

“Anyways, don’t worry about the figure, I’ve already found a replacement.” Zhao Zi patted him reassuringly on the shoulder.

“What?! How?” Jack asked, not minding that Zhao Zi’s hand lingered around him, less of a pat and more of a fondle.

Zhao Zi shrugged. “I have an internet friend in Japan, she tracked it down for me at one of their used figure shops. See?”

Jack took his boyfriend’s proffered phone. Surely enough, someone on LINE named Shiina-chan had sent him a picture of the same figure that Jack had just spent more than two weeks tracking down. 

“You just gotta know where to look. It was sweet of you to try, though.”

“I almost had it,” Jack sighed again, this time for real. It was staggering to think that this entire escapade—the alleyway, the convention, the unexpected chase and shootout—had been entirely unnecessary. 

“Hey, we got to catch some bad guys together,” said Zhao Zi brightly. 

“We should do it again sometime,” Jack said, only half-joking. He hadn’t had that many thrills, that much fun, in literally a year. 

“I’m going to hold you to that.”

Jack’s heart softened at the brilliance behind Zhao Zi’s gaze. He was not entirely surprised to discover that his boyfriend had found their adventure enjoyable, despite the danger that had been present from beginning to end, not to mention the dubiously legal nature of his participation. 

Jack stared back at his partner, committing Zhao Zi’s beaming expression to memory, and smiled back.

**Author's Note:**

> My eternal thanks to [Naye](https://archiveofourown.org/users/naye) and [Xparrot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/xparrot), who did a great job betaing this thing! /Naye did some real heavy lifting by reviewing the first draft, after which I cut more than 1,000 words out.) Thank you!
> 
> Yes, Zhao Zi does actually own a Shinguji Sakura figure from Sakura Wars.
> 
> The entire premise of this fic was originally supposed to be Jack going undercover as an otaku (which he most definitely is not, even though it’s clear Zhao Zi totally is) at a convention, but somehow it escalated into the battle couple trope, because apparently that’s what my brain wanted to write? I have no explanation for how this happened, but I hope you enjoyed the abrupt twist and the results.
> 
> All of Li’l Chubs kittens are named after the characters (in Chinese pronunciation) from the manga/anime series _Bleach_, by Kubo Tite. I chose _Bleach_ in particular because I was stalking Andy Bian on Instagram, and found a photo of him [cosplaying Kurosaki Ichigo](https://www.instagram.com/p/Br-DL5sBzIu/?utm_source=ig_web_copy_link), and confessing to be a fan and an otaku too. After seeing that, how could I not name the kittens after _Bleach_ characters? 
> 
> The corresponding names for the kittens are:
> 
> Yī hù (一護) (Ichigo) a ginger tabby male.  
Zhī jī (織姬) (Orihime), a white with calico female (goes to Yu Qi)  
Yè yī (夜一) (Yoruichi), a black female.  
Chad, a tabby male (goes to Shao Fei to keep him company in Tang Yi’s absence. Tang Yi’s gonna be thrilled to have cat hair covering everything.)


End file.
